wandered through her friend’s house, hands stuffed in her pockets, a cherry sucker bobbing in her mouth. Told to make herself at home, she figured exploring was the first order of business.

The two-story house was cozy but polished, every hallway lined with carefully placed photos—family vacations, holiday dinners, portraits that seemed to watch her as she passed. She slowed to admire the details, tilting frames and tracing faint scratches on the walls with her eyes, completely absorbed.

Then, a sound caught her off guard: plastic bags rustling, keys jingling. The noise grew, echoing through the hallway until Jill froze mid-step, lips curling around the sucker.

“Huh?” she muttered, turning toward the sound, curiosity prickling her skin.